The nurse rested her hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Do you know where you are?”
“I’m in the hospital.”
“Do you know what day it is?” Murphy figured that was a bloody stupid question. He hadn’t had a clunk on the head, and he wasn’t even sure he knew what day it was.
Jordan kept her eyes closed through the rest of the interrogation, but she answered all the questions to the nurse’s satisfaction. With brisk efficiency, the uniformed woman finished taking all of Jordan’s vital signs, then straightened the blankets, checked the monitor one more time and left the room.
Murphy saw Jordan try to swallow, and he spoke, his tone very quiet. “Would you like a drink?”
Jordan’s eyes flew open, and she shifted her head and stared at him, a stunned expression in her eyes. He was pretty sure she hadn’t realized he was there; now he knew for sure. She never took her eyes off him as he went over to her night table and picked up the carafe, poured some ice water into a glass, then stuck in the flexible straw. Her eyes were wide and dark, and she followed his every move, her gaze fixed on his face. He was on her right side—her good side—but he was still careful not to jar her as he offered her a drink, adjusting the straw against the side of her mouth that wasn’t swollen. “Here,” he said, his voice husky. “You’re going to have to try it off center. Your lip’s pretty puffed up.”
Closing her eyes, she drank most of the cold liquid, nearly emptying the glass. When she let the straw go, he took the glass away, setting it on the table. Then she looked at him, her gaze anxious. “Where’s J.J.?”
He gave her a steady, level look. “He’s fine, Jordan. Baba has him at your place. He was sound asleep when I left them.” Knowing the nurse would probably smack him if she came back in, he eased down on the edge of the bed anyway, putting his right hand on the far side of Jordan’s head. “So how are you doing? Do you need anything?”
She touched one hand to her breasts. She made an effort to smile, but she didn’t quite pull it off. Her speech was slurred from her swollen mouth. “I need J.J.”
He reached down and picked up a small fabric carryall, setting it beside her. “I thought that might be a problem. So I brought the breast pump and whatever else I thought you might need.”
She tried to sit up straighter, but she sank back and closed her eyes and swallowed hard, what little color she had disappearing. Hating the fact that he couldn’t do one damned thing to help her, Murphy carefully smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, then stood up. “I’ll go get the nurse.”
She opened her eyes, her expression etched with distress. “No.”
He tried to reason with her. “You have a concussion, Jordan. You’re going to need some help.”
She looked up at him, her expression so wretched it broke his heart. “I can do it myself. If you could just raise the bed a bit.”
Murphy clamped his mouth shut. He did not want to do this. He definitely did not want to do this. But leaving her alone wasn’t even an option. There was no way on God’s earth he could do that in the state she was in. Releasing an uneven sigh, he met her gaze. “Okay,” he said, his tone husky. “We’ll do it your way.”
They had been through this before, and he knew what to do. Going to the sink, he grabbed two towels off the stack and tossed them in, and started running hot water. He closed the door, then went over to the bed. She was lying perfectly still with her eyes closed, and he winced. As if getting your face smashed up in an accident weren’t bad enough. Now she had to contend with painfully full breasts. He could only imagine how she must be hurting. He pulled the curtain around the bed, figuring the least he could do was assure her some privacy. The controls for the bed were by her head, and he pressed the button to raise it, watching her face. “Tell me when,” he said quietly.
“That’s good,” she whispered.
He reached behind her neck, and she managed to lean forward enough so he could undo the ties down the back of the hospital nightie, but she was clearly dizzy.
Murphy fixed the pillow under her head so it was more comfortable and stabilizing, then he went back to the sink and wrung out the towels, trying to make his mind go blank. He was not going to think about it; he was just going to do it.
When he rounded the curtain, Jordan was trying to get her arms out of the sleeves, and he could tell by the way her breath caught and how still she went that her left shoulder was extremely painful. He set the towels on the bedside table. “Here,” he said, grasping the neckline. “Let’s get the right arm out first. Then we can just slide it off the other.”
He freed her good arm, then slid the nightie off her other arm, baring her to the waist. His heartbeat was erratic, and he locked his jaw together, trying not to think at all. Her breasts were heavily engorged, the skin stretched tight. An unexpected twist of humor surfaced. Having had some personal experience with heavily engorged and hard parts of the body, he had some idea of what she was going through. Folding one hot, wet towel in quarters, he gently laid it on her hardened breast, then repeated the process. She’d kept her eyes closed, but he saw tears gather along her lashes. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He gently brushed back her stringy hair. “You’re welcome.”
The breast pump was electric, and Murphy unwound the extension cord and plugged it into a plate at the back of the bed, then set everything up, including a container he’d packed.
With forced nonchalance, he sat in the chair and flipped through a magazine as she tended to herself, the quiet hum from the pump seeming abnormally loud. He was flipping through the magazine for the second time when the pump shut off, and he glanced up. A start of alarm shot through him. She was lying with her good arm over her eyes, and she was visibly trembling. Afraid she was going to pass out, he got up and went over to her, lowering the bed until she was back to the original semireclining angle. Setting the pump and the half-filled container aside, he sat down on the mattress, propping his arm on the other side of her. “What’s the matter?” he commanded softly.
She swallowed hard, then murmured. “Nothing. I just got really dizzy looking down.”
The damp towels were lying beside her. “Do you want me to warm the towels up?”
Her voice was barely audible. “No, thanks.”
Shoving them aside, he gently slid the left sleeve up her arm, careful not to put any stress on her bruised shoulder. She still had her right arm over her eyes, so he drew the nightie up as far as it would go, then covered her with the sheet. He felt the towels. One towel was still warm. Turning, he tossed the cold one into the chair behind them. Then, using the tail of the warm one, he wiped her left hand and arm, carefully and thoroughly removing all traces of her blood. His expression solemn, he wiped between her fingers. There had been so much blood—so much of her blood.
When he finished his task, he tossed that towel on the chair with the other, his heart doing a yo-yo when he found her watching him, a kind of despair in her eyes that cut right through him. But it was a type of despair that he recognized—one that sprang from sorrow and regret.
Her battered mouth quivering, she reached up and touched his face with trembling fingers, her eyes filling up with tears. Then a ragged sob escaped her, and she covered her face with her hand. “Oh, God. I could have gotten him killed over some stupid errands. And I wrecked your brand-new truck—I should have checked the intersection.”
A strange sensation sizzled through Murphy, almost as if he’d been injected with something that was hot and cold, but that feeling was immediately followed by a shot of genuine concern. Afraid to hold her for fear of hurting her, he slipped his hand under her head, his palm against her ear. “Hey,” he chastised softly, drawing his thumb across her uninjured cheek. “That’s not how it is, Jordan. J.J. is safe and sound because you were a good mom and made sure he was fastened in his car seat properly. And thank God you were driving the Explorer and not the BMW—the jerk that hit you was driving a big Suburban. It would have been a different story
altogether if you guys had been in the coupe.”
She wept with such intensity that Murphy knew it could only be making her condition worse, and it was killing him. Being very careful, he slid one arm beneath her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s see if I can hold you without doing any more damage.”
She came into his arms so fast, she nearly knocked him off the bed, and she hung on with a kind of desperation that damned near split his heart in two. He gently shifted her head, changing the angle. “Let’s do it like that so it doesn’t hurt your face, okay?” Closing his eyes and swallowing hard, he caught the back of her head, holding her with every ounce of care he had in him. Needing something for himself, he turned his head and kissed her uninjured temple. If he had doubts before, he knew it for a fact now. There was no way he would ever get over her. No damned way.
Trying to ease the commotion in his chest, he concentrated on his breathing. It only helped a little. Taking care not to hurt her, he smoothed down her hair, then he gave her a phantom hug and spoke, his voice very husky. “Look, darlin’. Some idiot ran a red light and plowed into you. That was bad luck. But the good luck was that you were far enough through the intersection that he hit behind you. And the second piece of good luck was that you guys were in a vehicle that could take a hit like that. And the third bit of good luck was that you had J.J. buckled up properly. That’s all good luck. I got that truck to keep you and J J. safe, and it did. So I’m happy.”
Fairly sure her back hadn’t sustained any injuries, he began slowly rubbing it, waiting for her to cry herself out She had to have a wicked headache, and crying certainly wasn’t going to make it any better. Man, he’d never felt quite so helpless as he did right then.
She almost stopped, then she sobbed against his shoulder, “I was so afraid you wouldn’t come because of me.”
Murphy’s throat cramped up and he shut his eyes and tightened his hold, wishing he could simply absorb her. Wishing he could tell her that she had it all wrong—that he had come because of her.
Chapter 11
The physical and emotional trauma finally took Jordan down, and she fell asleep in Murphy’s arms, her face ravaged by injury and tears. With nothing between them but a thin hospital gown, he was acutely aware of how thin she was, how fragile physically, and it was a long time before he could force himself to let go and settle her back in bed. And even after he’d drawn the covers up over her, he had stood looking down at her for a very long time.
Needing some air, Murphy took the elevator to the lobby and headed outside. It had quit snowing, and everything was covered in several inches, but the streetlights still had the pink aura of ice crystals around them. Hunching his shoulders against the cold and wishing he’d brought something a little warmer than a sweater, Murphy walked around the road that circled the parkade, his hands stuck in his pockets, his crystallized breath hanging in the air.
The funny feeling he had gotten in the room—when she was holding herself so responsible—was, he realized now that he had time to think about it, a couple more critical pieces falling into place. And one of those critical pieces was that there were more than just abandonment issues here. To that little girl, who’d had so many medical problems, it must have seemed that there had to be something wrong with her—as if she were terribly flawed. Ten chances to one, she had always been made to think that she was the one at fault, the one who was such an inconvenience, the one who was so much trouble that no one wanted her, the one who must keep doing some wrong to be repeatedly taken from one foster home and dumped in another. It was as if she had been this tender seedling, never allowed to put down roots before she was ripped up and transplanted, again and again. That was the history lesson. But there was more to it than that.
Once he had it all figured out, it was as if someone had pulled his blinders off and he could see. And the pieces were clicking into place. Yeah, she knew she was pregnant when she pulled the pin, but the reason she didn’t tell him right away was that she assumed total responsibility and blamed herself. He’d be willing to bet the farm on it. Yeah, he had been way off before, but this time he was damned sure he had it right.
It wasn’t her wariness that was the problem—because she’d called him the minute the chips were down. And it wasn’t her abandonment, either. What was the problem was a leftover belief from her childhood that when something went wrong, it was her fault. When he saw what he’d been missing all along, Murphy felt as if he had discovered the mother lode. Hell, maybe he wasn’t ready to throw in the towel after all.
A shadow came up fast from the side, and he ducked and whirled, ready to defend himself. Mitch grinned at him. “Do you want company, or is this a one-person road race?”
Suddenly aware that he was bloody cold, Murphy grinned back at his brother. His tone was irritable. “What in hell are we doing, running around out here in the middle of the night in the freezing cold?”
His brother at least had a jacket on, and he yanked up the collar. “I don’t know. Looking for the age of enlightenment?”
Starting to shiver, Murphy chuckled. “Go home, you crazy bastard. Only fools are out walking at three in the morning.”
Mitch raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought it was only fools fall in love.”
Murphy gave him such a powerful shove with his shoulder that Mitch went sliding into the curb. He saluted Murphy with one finger. “If that’s the way you’re going to be, you’re on your own.” Still grinning, Murphy watched his brother trot across the nearly empty parking lot to his vehicle, then he continued on his way back to the hospital.
He was shivering in earnest when he stepped into the glassed-in entryway. He paused to stamp his feet, noticing a deep pile of snow on a newspaper dispenser outside. Man, he bet something that soft and cold would feel good on Jordan’s swollen lip right now. They had given her gel ice packs for her face, but nothing that was soft enough for her mashed mouth. He went back outside and formed it into a soft snowball, then reentered the hospital.
There was a nurse at the station, filling out charts when Murphy arrived on the unit. She looked up. “Oh. Mr. Munroe. We thought you’d gone home.”
Making sure she didn’t see what was in his hand, Murphy swore under his breath. Great, now Jordan thought he’d gone home and left her.
Jordan’s head was angled toward the window when he arrived at her door. Even though he couldn’t see her whole face, he could see the worst of it, and she looked bloody awful. But what bothered him even more was the unsettling lack of energy he sensed in her—as if she didn’t care about anything. Murphy had never seen her so listless. She turned her head as he entered, and the relief he saw in her eyes made his pulse falter. But he played out his game. He held his hand behind his back, the snow already starting to melt between his fingers. “I brought you something for your lip.”
She looked a little dazed. “What?”
He sat down beside her and showed her what he had in his hand. She looked up at him, stunned and amazed, but what made him feel better than he had for quite some time was the honest-to-goodness shimmer of delight. “You brought me a snowball.” As if it were the most special thing she had ever received, she took it from him. “I can’t believe you brought me a snowball.”
Locating a thin facecloth in her nightstand, he made a little ice packet, then handed it back to her. She closed her eyes and carefully pressed it against her mouth.
Murphy had to look away. The urge was so strong to exchange his mouth for the ice pack, he felt it right down to the soles of his feet. He clamped his mouth shut, disgusted with himself. Lord, he needed to give his head a shake—thinking things like that when she was just one big walking bruise.
Needing something to do to keep his mind from taking another left turn, he pushed the nightstand out of the way and pulled his chair right up tight to the bed. Then he sat down and stretched out, resting his arm beside her. It was as if she had locked on to him with some sort of radar. Without opening her eyes, Jordan switched han
ds and slipped her snow-cold palm under his, the pulse in her neck faltering when he closed his fingers around hers. Suddenly feeling as if he were nothing but one big exposed nerve end himself, Murphy closed his eyes, hoping like hell that Murphy’s Law didn’t kick in this time.
A huge plant basket encased in plastic arrived from Fairhaven Nurseries, Mitch’s greenhouse, at six the next morning. It was supposedly from all the Munroe siblings—no doubt listed by name and rank, but Murphy knew who was really behind it, and he also knew that there was no way the greenhouse delivery van was making drops that early in the morning. The boss was out taking care of business himself.
Feeling a little as if he’d been in a car wreck, as well, Murphy was sitting in the chair when the arrangement arrived. The nurse set it on the crank-up table positioned at the foot of the bed, and Jordan opened her eyes. It gave Murphy a shot in the arm when she immediately checked to see if he was there. She was looking better—and worse. Thanks to the cold-pack treatments, the swelling had gone down in her mouth and face, and she had some color, even in the faint overhead light. But the bruising was beginning to turn dark, and he was nght—she was going to have one hell of a black eye. Slouched in the chair with his arms folded across his chest, he was almost too tired to move, but he managed a half smile and gave her a little two-fingered wave when she looked at him.
The nurse stripped the plastic off. “Oh, my. This is gorgeous.” Murphy had to admit it was pretty spectacular. Plants spilled out, some flowering, some not, and in the middle of the arrangement was a white calla lily in full bloom. If he had been asked to pick a flower that most embodied Jordan, it would have been that long, slender, elegant bloom. The nurse handed the card to Jordan, then wadded up the plastic.
Murphy watched Jordan take the card out of the envelope and formulated a plan, which took some doing because he felt as if his head were full of sawdust. He needed a shave, he needed a shower and he needed at least four hours of sleep.
Murphy's Child Page 20